Offertoire
by Last Marauder
Summary: In the wake of Sirius's death, Tonks tries to comfort a grieving Remus. A night of transformations. One shot, set during OotP. Contains slash.


**Author's Notes**: To Nocturne (my beautiful beta), Jen, and HaloChild, for all your support. This is my first HP fic, so please review, so I can learn.

Remus Lupin sat in his tiny room at the Leaky Cauldron, watching from the window as the rain beat down mercilessly on Diagon Alley. He wouldn't generally have allowed himself such a frivolous expense for a stay in London, but he didn't think he could face Grimmauld Place again so soon. In a week they would escort Harry back home, and then… where? Dumbledore had said he had a mission for him, one that would utilize his… particular capabilities. That could mean only one thing. Whatever it was, he only hoped it would take him far from here, far from the dank and creeping certainty of Sirius' death.

He was startled by the telltale staccato of apparation.

'Tonks!' his knee banged painfully against the underside of the table, the contents of his glass splashing dangerously close to the rim.

'Wotcher, Remus,' she greeted him half-heartedly, managing a soft smile. Her delicate heart-shaped face was wan and ashen, the once-vivid pink of her hair dulled to a lackluster shade of rose.

'You should be in bed,' he reprimanded, regaining composure, though a weak smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

'And you shouldn't be drinking firewhisky before lunch," she teased, raising her eyebrows. "Besides," she added, "I've done nothing but rest up for two weeks, I've been going off my rocker in there."

Tonks moved across the room and eased herself down onto the edge of the bed with an ill-concealed wince. Lupin moved to the mantel and poured a finger of the drink from an ancient-looking bottle. He handed it off to Tonks, taking a seat next to her on the bed.

'Have you heard from Harry?' she asked gently, accepting the glass.

'No, not since. Dumbledore flooed this morning to fill me in. He's having a tough time of it.'

'I can only imagine…'

'He's taken it very hard. He blames himself for what happened... But he's a strong lad, he'll come through.'

'And you?'

Lupin's eyes were fixed in front of him, studiously examining a stubborn bit of ash left on the hearth.

'Remus…' she started, tenderly resting her hand on his shoulder. 'I can't imagine what you must be feeling…'

Lupin shrugged her hand away.

'In my lifetime I have seen many formidable wizards fall at the hands of Lord Voldemort, and it has never gotten easier.' He turned his head away, his face drawn. He swallowed hard. 'He was a dear friend of mine.'

Tonks let the statement hang in the air a moment, before continuing.

'Is that all?' she asked, her voice soft, as if afraid her words might break him.

He gave her the best quizzical, 'I-haven't-the-faintest-idea-what-you're-on-about' look he could muster, but she met his gaze firmly and held fast.

'It was schoolboy foolishness, nothing more,' he muttered dismissively. He attempted matter-of-factness, but she caught the mistiness that clouded his eyes before he could push it away.

"It was…" he began again, "It was over a long time ago."

He thought back to that night, that horrible night when the world had caved in around him. The rumours had spread like brushfire- the Dark Mark seen over Godric's Hollow? No, surely the old witch had it wrong. Not the Potters. The whispers grew impossible to ignore. He remembered the horrible beauty of Lily's woundless body at the foot of the crib- you would have thought she was sleeping…- and the final realization, the dull agony of betrayal that had seeped into his every limb.

He thought of those first, cavernous months, living shadow to shadow, perpetually waiting for the next horror to strike. The first change had been the worst. He felt himself rent mind from body and knew that for the first time in years, he had nothing to come back for. This time, there would be no James to pull him back, to greet him with a good-natured hair-ruffling and a chocolate frog when it was over. No Sirius to bandage his scratch wounds, to draw cool cloths across his aching forehead. Every bit of truth and certainty in his world had been suddenly perverted. James and Lily were dead, their infant son left at the mercy of muggles, and Sirius had betrayed them. And Wormtail… And yet the inhumanity of it had seemed somehow _right_ to Remus. Human flesh was weak, it bled too easily and it grieved too wholly. As wolf he neither thought nor cared. It was all he could do to keep from withdrawing into himself completely.

He had forced himself to think of the infant boy left on a doorstep in Little Whinging. As much as he had lost, he told himself, Harry had lost more. And so, for James' son, he had come back. He had immersed himself in his work for the Order, in the fight against the dark arts. He cultivated a calm resignation to hide the fury and anguish boiling beneath. And, after a while, it stuck. He grew used to keeping strange hours, to the solitude that life as a werewolf afforded him. He found his friends in musty books and translations of arcane spells. He had been alone for longer than he could remember. Until-

Tonks drew a hand up to his temple, stroking a lock of grey-tinged hair behind his ear. She looked up at him, her eyes mirroring the pain etched in his face. When she moved to kiss his cheek, she felt his muscles tense.

'Tonks…' he started.

'Shh…' Her lips fluttered over him, landing on his temple, the hollow of his cheek, moving along the hard line of his jaw. Her nose nudged his as she hovered over the corner of his mouth.

He pulled back slightly, with more effort than he would admit

'Nymphadora.'

She withdrew at the use of her first name, a scolded child.

'We've been through this before. We decided-'

'_We _didn't decide anything, Remus, _you_ decided. You,' she emphasized, her mouth still dangerously close to him.

'I'm much too old for you.'

'So I've heard,' she countered, 'but I don't take much stock in such-' she paused to nibble an earlobe '-old fashioned conventions.'

'Tonks, look at me,' he took her chin in hand, looked square into her pleading eyes.

'I'm old, I'm poor- what kind of life could I possibly offer you? No-listen. I'm a werewolf, Tonks, that's no trivial matter. I'm dangerous. When I change… you couldn't understand. I'd only end up hurting you.'

'I'm in the business of endangering myself everyday, Remus, you can't protect me anymore.' Tonks already knew there was no convincing him. He'd give her the same old reasons, time after time. Elucidate it for her point by point. So you see, little Dora, this has to end, it can't go on. But it always did. She was a moon trapped in his orbit, anchored to him and pushed away by the same, unyielding force.

But she knew it was more than concern for her that kept him just beyond her reach. She had nothing to offer him but a broken family name and a vague resemblance to someone he once knew. As much as she wished otherwise, she knew the shadows of the past lurked closer to the surface than he would ever admit.

Choking back a sob, she hesitated only a moment before pulling him to her again, pressing her lips to his in desperation. Stunned by her sudden intensity, Remus found himself yielding under her touch. Regaining control, he brought his hands up to her face, cupping her cheeks. Beneath his fingers, he felt her soft flesh melt away, then set, hardening into muscle. Startled, he opened his eyes.

The features were not quite as he has seen them last. Oh, they were accurate, from the strong jaw and fine nose to the deep, brooding eyes. But though his face had softened some since his escape, managing to regain some of the old handsomeness, Sirius had never quite been able to rid himself of the haggardness carved deep by his time in Azkaban. The face in front of him showed no traces of such torment.

Nor was this the young man whose face had haunted Remus's dreams for twelve gaping years. This Sirius was certainly older, as old as Remus himself. But where Sirius's had spoken of torture and despair, these eyes spoke of happiness, of years unwasted. It was as though those horrible years had been not erased, but washed clean.

Remus pulled back, his eyes shining.

"Tonks, no," he began, but he was silenced by the firm finger she placed on his lips. She said nothing, but set to work undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Remus wanted to tell her to stop. He wanted to tell her that this was wrong, that she didn't have to do this.

He wanted to feel Sirius' breath, hot against his neck.

He wanted a body to bury in the ground. To have lost him once was agony, but twice… it was more than he could bear.

He reached out and pulled Sirius's face roughly to his own. His kiss was deep and desperate. He tugged hungrily at the supple lips, his tongue probing deeper, meeting with little resistance. Nimble hands pulled his shirt open, and he shrugged it off his shoulders. He ran one hand frantically through the dark mass of hair, the other pawed at the robes that hung awkwardly off Sirius's frame. Pulling back slightly, Remus thumbed at their collar as though to ask permission, and gained his assent by way of a slow nod. Gently, hesitantly now, he slid them off Sirius's broad shoulders. He moved his hands slowly, reverently across the lithe body, drinking in every inch of him.

Where soft pink flesh had once greeted him, he met with taut muscle. Memories he had forgotten he had sprang to the surface, guiding him across the sinuous landscape of skin and sweat beneath him.

Sirius's hands came up to meet him, pulling him back down onto the bed.

He felt Sirius's mouth against his collar bone- tongue and teeth, tracing scars left by old wounds- and a hand on his ribs, tracing its way lower, slowly, down. His body ached for the touch, he had waited long, too long, and he was sure the pleasure of it would swallow him whole.

He drew back to let Sirius turn beneath him.

There was the fumbling of a buckle, and then-

-achingly, deliriously-

There was nothing, there was everything, there was only one thing. There was only this:

His mouth hot at the nape of Sirius's neck, nuzzling at the matted hair, drinking in the smell of him-

The sculpted muscles of his back, lissome and glistening-

The feel of familiar skin, slick against his own

Remus shrugged aside his conscience and surrendered to the darkness.

Below him, Tonks closed her eyes to hold back the tides.


End file.
